The Hero In Me
by meupclose
Summary: "It is prophesied that the Righteous Man will start and end the Apocalypse. He will need a shield and a sword for battle that is more power than anything man can forge. You are the perfect hybrid of all God's planes; Heaven, Earth, and Hell. All acquired by an act of Free Will Dean Winchester. You must fight." demon!angel!dean, slow burn destiel, canon through season 4
1. The First Brothers

Clouds in the sky blacken, swirling in circles, hiding the rays of sunshine until darkness engulfs the building. A flutter of wings lands beside the two brothers before a snap of fingers sends the Winchesters into a nearby plane. He had no more use for the stupid humans. A human male vessel stands shaking scared next to the Angel. Michael regards the pathetic weak creature for a moment, before he throws him into the open pit. The scream echoes around the room as the walls crumble around him. Deep resonating shakes rumble the Earth below his feet but Michael remains perched on the edge of the hole, hand out-stretched. His bright golden wings flared out, each feather reflecting the small amount of light, waiting for the lean fingers of his brother to touch his. A tunnel of light bursts from the deepest part of Hell to enter the Heavens skyward. Michael remains still.

The vessel tossed into the pit moments before reaches out, sliding his fingers into his, strong hands grasp his forearm as the dark black wings unfurl into the Earth plane. To an outsider, it would have been a scary sight. Lucifer's smile pulling widely at his brother, wings shaking off the dust from years of confinement in the cage. Michael breathes in a sigh of relief, the younger John Winchester's vessel was the best he could do at the moment. He is reluctant to say he was surprised when Anael tried to foil his plans for the Winchesters. It worked out in his favor to gain access to a proper vessel without forcing his hand with Dean in this current time. His brothers vessel was a depressed man, desperate for redemption. He opened his heart to Michael, begging for purpose, and he promised the man his brother will give him everything and more. He is pleased to see that even after throwing him into the open pit, he still said yes.

Michael had dreamed of this moment for thousands of years. That day his father commanded him to fight his brother, he knew something was wrong. The orders were direct but given as a question that confused him at the time. With orders it was simple, you didn't fight them, you followed them and made your father proud. He realized too late, that his father was giving him a choice, a taste of free will like the apes on Earth called it. His choice to exile his brother or not, and he chose wrong because of his conditioning to follow orders no matter what. To never question. Years, he lived in confinement, much like the cage he had put Lucifer in, regret and revenge stewing, blackening his pure heart, till the only thing that kept him going was giving out the orders to line up the Winchesters to free his brother.

Lucifer clasps both hands onto his sturdy shoulders, ash blonde hair darkened by soot, bloody burns litter his arms and face. With a shake of his head, Lucifer heals his vessel, "Brother! It is good to see you, you look terrible." He was always the one to make light of a bad situation, 'Lighten up Michael', he would say, earning a round of laughs from their fellow siblings further proving his name The Light-bringer. He always was able to draw out the smallest of smiles on Michael's lips.

"I have missed you," the sentiment ringing deep with in Michael's vessel, he swallows the regret, "that moment of weakness, has tortured me for years Lucifer. I have but only dreamed of this day, and prayed to our father that it would come," Michael furrows his brows at the bad taste of free will on his lips. Lucifer notices his change in attitude.

"What has father been up to?" He stares hopeful into his brothers eyes, but Michael shakes his head in vast disappointment, "He has not been in Heaven for many a century now. The other Angels don't know they are working for me now."

Revenge creeps up on him drawing his eyes to the ground. Lucifer breathes it in, he can taste the sin in the air, rolling off of Michael in sweet waves. This is what he knew how to do, he is the King of Hell. He cradles Michael's cheek lovingly. They were but the closest siblings, created only moments apart, almost twins if you hadn't blinked during their creation. Lucifer smiles brightly, "Dear brother, what is it you want to do about our pain?"

Michael pulls away, back arching up to stand tall, shoulders flare back, wings fly into an offensive position ready for flight. Each feather ripples straight, a curl upon his top lip, he eyes his brother with vengeful eyes. Lucifer copies the stance, enormous paper-thin black wings, more bat like then the down feathers of his brothers, flair out wide destroying what's left of the room. They stare wildly for a moment before Michael speaks, "we earn our revenge on this planet dear brother. He has always love them more, made me exile you, my family, because you were brave enough to stand up for what you believed in. He wants free will, he has it."

Dark blackness pulls at the edges of Lucifer's eyes, "I love revenge," They share a evil grin before taking flight into the coming storm. "Let make the planet burn."


	2. Burned Wings

a/n Please follow my tumblr for the story! Lots of inspirational photos and side stories.

Dean was so thankful to be off that metal flying death trap. The bright white light that shot up into the sky seconds after they appeared in their seats, only proved one thing, Lucifer was in fact free. Sam freaked out at first but they had talked through most of the flight, unsure exactly how they got on to the plane to begin with. The car they grabbed by the airport was anything but baby, but Dean pushed the import to get to Chuck's house. He hadn't mentioned it to Sam, but Dean was on prayer fifty at the moment, begging for Castiel to get his feathery ass into the car. A dark, regretful, pit sunk into his stomach at the thought of Castiel being...dead. Raphael was an Archangel, he knew Cas didn't stand a chance when he had whammied him away to stop Sam, but to actually not have the Angel around anymore frightened him.

Sam was quiet during the drive. The sun starting to set in the colorful sky casting a bright red hue on his tense face. His brother looked to be keeping it together for his sake but he knows he really fucked up, on an Apocalyptic scale. Deep down something told him he should have listened to his brother from the start, but the pull of demon blood ended up being stronger, even when Dean walked through the door alive, he didn't stand a chance. The moment they found Castiel and made sure Chuck was alive, he was demanding to be locked up in the panic room until he was clean. The house came into view as Dean pulled the car into the driveway. From the outside it looked in perfect shape, Dean sighed in relief, maybe he was ok. Weapons in hand they banged on the door, "Chuck?! Cas!?" Dean wiggles the handle, opening the door slowly, guns drawn. Dean steps through first.

"Cas?" A crunch of glass greets them, Dean looks up to see the destruction of the living room, furniture litters the floor in splinters, windows blown out even if they looked in perfect condition on the outside. Burn marks, dark, and still smoking on the walls and floors make the room look as if a lightning storm blew through. They creep into the room further to see Chuck sitting on the floor facing away from them. Sam lets out a breath of relief, "Chuck? You ok?" Sam asks hesitantly, gun still drawn but held tightly at his side. Dean takes another step into the room before he sees his foot smudge an outline.

His eyes follow the shape, black as night, beautifully imprinted wings, burned into the floor and up the walls. Resting in Chucks lap is Cas' head, his hands combing through his chestnut hair lovingly. Dean's chest tightens as he stares at the ash of feathers, the stain of blood sprayed across his chest, pooled round and deep from the angel blade. "No…" he whispers out, hands outstretched before his legs give out. "No, no, no, no," the sob breaks his lips, tears clouding his eyes. He collapses forward, crawling to his friend, his best friend, black soot covering his hands as he makes his way to Chuck. He's still so beautiful in death, eyes closed, Dean prays to see those bright blue eyes one more time, his hand reaches out to rest his palm against his cheek, the scratch of short stubble he always kept perfect with his Angel mojo rubs against his hand. Jimmy's blue tie is soaked through with blood, a deep hole through the center, right into his heart. Dean chokes on another sob, hands pulling up to cover his eyes. Chuck watches quietly as Sam kneels by his side. hands rubbing his back in small circles.

"Dean, you have to breathe, come on man," Sam's voice echos out softly to him but Dean can't hear him completely. Pain, deep in his chest tears at his insides. He can't lose Cas, he can't be dead. Hell screams out at him, tugs at his soul, Alastair's words chanting in his head. 'Worthless, you always kill your friends Dean, you deserve to be in hell boy, look at him,' Dean opens his eyes, breaths coming out in short gasps, the white of Cas's face dotted with crimson. 'all your fault, you actually killed an Angel, didn't know you had it in you to hurt something so pure, so Righteous, someone you love,' he growls by his ear, 'selfish just like the true demon you are,' Alastair laughs darkly before pulling a long blade from his table of tools. 'Lets play! Come one Dean, you know you deserve it.' He pushes the tip into the right side of Dean's center back, 'scream for me pretty boy,' he pushes it in slowly, 'you know how I like it,' he whispers watching as Dean bites his lip as the scream pushes past them.

Sam jumps up scared, "Dean!," he screams out, his hand coated with blood from his back. Chuck rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, forcing his wet eyes down to his a moment. Chuck's face changes to Alastair's, a smug smile gracing his face, "Dean, Dean, Dean, you never learn do you. You are forever mine. You think that he fixed you? That once you are a demon in hell that Angel can cure you without killing your soul?" Alastair walks around and pulls the blade slowly from his back, sliding it across the bloody skin, to mirror the wound onto the left side. "You are mine Dean Winchester, you made that choice to go to hell, God can't save you, boy!" the blade plunges into his flesh as Dean's screams choke off as his mouth fills with blood.

"Chuck what do I do?!" Sam screams and watches Dean's back coat with blood even when no wound was present. Sam stumbles back in shock as large black lines wrap around and up Dean's exposed forearms. "What is happening!" he yells as Dean's head and back arch backward in another piercing scream, shattering the last window as the black marks bubble on his skin. Blood drips from his lips, and Sam can smell the charred skin smoking, making him feel sick. Chuck's hand holds Dean in place, eyes bright white, before a burst of energy pulses outward knocking Sam into the far wall.

Its quiet when Sam opens his eyes, his head pounding from hitting the wall, but the sight of the pitch black wings frighten him still. They bellow fluidly like each feather is made of and surrounded by black smoke, small twitches resonate through Dean's shaking form. They stretch to the ceiling and disappear through, billowing softly. His forehead rests on Cas' stomach, legs pulled under his frame, Sam can see the black burned tattoos on his forearms, unaware they litter his legs as well, he motions forward hesitantly.

"Sam stay there," Chuck's voice commands softly as the tall brother freezes mid crawl. Dean lifts his head slowly, eyes staring straight ahead, the movement making the wings flair out as if he is about to take flight. Alastair chuckles darkly at his favorite toy, "You are beautiful like this." He circles around, hand moving through the wings, tentacles of black smoke swirl around his finger, before taking on the feather shape again. "He is using you like everyone does, even God couldn't care about you." Sam watches the wings swirl around as if someone is touching them, and takes in a deep intake of breath as they regain their shape. The breath draws attention his way, and he is met with the piercing black eyes of his older brother. He's shocked momentarily, before he reaches for the demon blade.

"Chuck," Sam pleas, voice shaking in fear, Chuck's eyes are only on Dean's, hand still on his shoulder squeezing tight. Dean's focus goes back on Cas, and his wings instantly fold downward in helplessness. Chuck's voice echos into the quiet room.

"Dean, look at me, now!" Dean turns his head immediately and see's Chuck. Alastair's chuckle fades in the distance, his green eyes containing all but the barest hint of black now, "you are ok." Sam watches his brothers face wrinkle in confusion then fall to stare down at his tattooed arms, the wings flicker twice, and disappear completely.

"Who are you?" Dean's raw voice whispers out, "what did you do to me?" Chuck smiles lovingly and pets the back of his head removing all the blood from his back and mouth.

"I am God," he answers simply moving his hand to cup the side of Castiel's face disappearing the dots of blood that litter his handsome face, "and I have given you an Angelic gift." A bright blue light pulses under his hand as Cas' eyes fly open.


	3. Hello Dean

The light sinks into his friends beautiful eyes, enhancing the blue Dean finds himself lost in immediately. Skin torn by the Angel blade, deep through to his heart sews closed, and the warm color of life pushes away his pale ashen skin. Dean remains frozen in place as Cas comes back to life, choking down the need to touch the only person other than Sam he honestly loved. Cas sits up coughing up bits of blood, hand wiping away at his lips, before his eyes meet Chuck's. "Father?" he breathes out in awe. Eyes widen with tears, he rolls forward to kiss the hem of Chuck's shirt.

"My dear son, sit up," Chuck's voice is commanding but fills the room with warmth. He beckons Sam over, "There is little time." With a wave of his hand the room is cleaned up, a roaring fire the only source of light, flickering reds and golds across their faces. Dean remains on the floor, legs folded, heels dug in under his butt, hands squeezing his thighs feeling overwhelmed. Tears prick at his eyes, and he wishes he had the pain to distract his thoughts. Cas' hand slides over top of his bringing his eyes up to blue.

"Hello Dean," the intense stare softens lightly at the words as he draws his thumb across the top of his hand. Dean wipes his nose with his free hand, and smiles at the simple words. "Hey Cas," he replies turning his hand around to grasp Cas' tighter. Sam's large frame plops onto the repaired couch, the demon knife twirls in his hands against his left knee. Dean motions backwards to lean his back on the couch, making Sam's legs press up against his shoulder. The touch calms Dean, and he breathes out contently when Cas shuffles over next to him still holding his hand.

All three stare at God, who sits down on the ratty chair looking comfortable in the once prophet Chuck's body. "Is Chuck alive?" Sam blurts out making Dean elbow his leg, "What?" he stares at Dean in annoyance, "It's a valid question, he's gotta be a vessel or something right?"

God closes his eyes for a moment, forehead sinking into wrinkles, hands clenching momentarily on his knees. He looks weary, as if he just came from battle, or a parent in need of a break. Dean feels a small part of him feeling sorry for the God, well the God. It must be hard being the father to a bunch of dick angels. Chuck's eyes glance sternly at Dean as if he heard the thought, "Yes, Chuck is fine, I wont be here long."

Cas tenses at the words, and he squeezes his hand in comfort. Sam nods in understanding, "What happened to Dean?" leaning forward confidently, knife still drawn. Leave it Sam to get right to the point. Dean's eyes play back a forth between the two.

God chuckles at the direct question, "I can not tell you much." He leans back off his knees and folds his fingers together. "It is prophesied that the Righteous Man will start and end the Apocalypse. He will need a shield and a sword for battle that is more power than anything man can forge." Dean furrows his brow in thought, the dark black tattoos catching his eye, he runs a finger up the pattern. Alastair's voice creeps in, whispering softly in the furthest parts of his mind. Dean wills him away, he can't handle the intrusion, the reminders of his failures. That was what Alastair did best in hell, cutting into him, making him scream, while whispering all he hated about himself. Hands touch his face and shoulder and he opens his eyes to see Cas starring concerned back.

Sam's warm hand squeezes his shoulder, "Dean?" The simple question of his name melts Alistair's voice away. His eyes move to God's, "What am I?" he asks anxiety filling in around his heart. God's stare hardens through the tired eyes of their friend Chuck, "You are the perfect hybrid of Heaven, Earth, and Hell. All acquired by an act of Free Will Dean Winchester." He pauses and looks skyward as if he was leaving. Sam stands up in anger, "What does that even mean? His eyes were black!" Dean winces at the words. He hadn't realized he was still a demon, and now that he thought on it, he could feel it in his veins. Swirling around like a poison, midnight black smoke touching every cell in his body.

"My grace, you activated it?" Cas' words ask out ignoring Sam's defensive position on his father. Chuck's eyes twinkle in mischief as he nods. "I must go, good luck on your journey Dean. I am hoping to see this beautiful planet remain for a few thousands or more years," and with a bright flash of light, Chuck's slumped form sleeps in the chair. They remained quiet for a moment as the word of God settles in their thoughts. Sam checks on Chuck and decides to move him to the bedroom to sleep off him having God use his body. The thought is disturbing in itself, making Sam shiver in distaste.

Cas is pacing the room, trench coat, tie, and jacket removed on the chair. Dean pours himself a glass of whiskey from the bar. "So, I am a demon," he speaks out in resignation. Cas nods still pacing, but accepting the drink handed his way by Dean. The human act should send up a red flag or at least a raised eyebrow, but Dean is tired.

"Yes, it seems you are also an Angel," Sam's voice comes into the room. "I saw your wings man, they were something else." The thought curls Dean's lip back in disgust. Great. Now he really is a freak. As if they didn't have enough problems on their plate now they have to figure him out. He finishes his drink in one swallow.

"Whatever, I'm going to bed," Dean shuffles past both men and heads for the spare bedroom. He's angry, but doesn't want to take it out on them, sleep was the best thing he could do. He pulls the stained shirt off throwing it near the wall. The room itself is cozy, furniture large taking up most of the space. He clicks on the bed stand lamp, illuminating a warm orange glow across his skin, dancing over his black tattoos. He stares at them again, the flesh still warm to the touch but painless. His hands fumble with his belt, pants falling down to pool around his ankles, he kicks them away. The same black markings trail up his ankles and thighs, the highest peak hits his hip bone on his left leg. He chuckles darkly at the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. "Makes sense to keep demons out, but kinda obsolete when you are the demon," he speaks aloud to himself. Demon. Alastair's words creep in from earlier, 'You think that he fixed you? That once you are a demon in hell that Angel can cure you without killing your soul?'

"Dean?" Sam's meek voice speaks from the doorway, Dean's back is to him, soft gray boxers resting on his hips, his hands are trembling, eyes closed tight. A soft prayer plays off his lips, 'please God, not me, not me, I can't, I'll fail, please God, don't leave this for me to fix.' Sam's chest tightens at the prayer, the planes of Dean's back ripple forward in a small sob, and Sam almost wishes to see the smoke filled wings again. He walks up behind Dean and touches his arm causing his brother to jump back in fright, wings flickering into view for a second, eyes trained on Sam, he sighs and plops on the bed.

"Dammit Sam," Dean mumbled, rolling his body back to stare at the ceiling. Sam stares widely at the space the wings flickered into view. He shakes his head, not the time man.

"Look Dean, we will head to Bobby's tomorrow ok?" the ,so you can lock me up because if you remember I am a demon blood addict who freed Lucifer, was on the tip of Sam's tongue but Dean had enough on his plate. "I'll sleep on the couch, get some sleep, we have a long drive in the morning." His brother pats his leg and heads out the door where Cas is standing, his tall frame turns back, "night." he finishes lamely, and walks back out to living room. Cas stands quietly observing the deep breathes, and the rise and fall of Dean's chest. He pads in slowly, kicking his shoes off. Dean cracks an eye his way and instantly smiles.

"Hey," Dean sits up and motions Cas over, pulling his forearm and body into a crushing hug. He never would have dared to do this before but he needs Cas like water. Cas' lean fingers comb through his short hair, rubbing small circles on the back of his neck, causing a sigh to escape his lips. He buries his face into the Angel's stomach, arms squeezing tighter around, the sharp point of a hip bone resting on his cheek.

They stay in the position for a moment longer before Cas pulls away, hands cradling his face. The pad of his thumb rubs against his lip, up his cheekbone, and presses softly under his jaw. Cas' eyes are sad watching Dean submit to his gently touches, he pushes him back towards the headboard, and pulls the covers back. Dean lets himself be man handled, and tucked in, eyes heavy with sleep. Cas unbuttons his white dress shirt, throwing it aside as Dean's eyes close, a sigh on his lips. He pulls off the belt of his pants, and slides into bed, careful not to wake him.

For a moment, he just watches Dean sleep, forehead relaxed, arms tucked under his pillow. A new wave drowsiness washes over him, and he rests his head down on the pillow beside Dean. He counts the breaths of his friend before sleep takes over his once pure Angel form.


End file.
